Chuck vs the Patriot Games
by professor-of-chaos
Summary: What happens when familiar faces are thrust into the political arena? As Chuck guides Casey through the process of running for President, old friends will appear - friends who will help, and friends who will hinder. AU; set in The West Wing universe.
1. Prologue

_Chuck vs. the Patriot Games_  
Prologue

**Author's note:** You will notice quickly that this story is set in the universe of _The West Wing_, and that characters from _The West Wing_ play a minor, but important, role in this story. However, this is not a _West Wing_ story. This is an alternate universe _Chuck_ story, which means that there will (eventually) be Charah, among other distinct _Chuck _trademarks.

* * *

**October 1, 2009  
12:15 PM, Eastern Time  
Annapolis, Maryland**

CNN: "_We'll be going live to the Maryland state capitol in Annapolis in just a few minutes. We're expecting an announcement at any minute from the junior Senator from Maryland as to his intentions for next year…_"

MSNBC: "_The moderate Republican junior Senator from Maryland is expected to throw his hat into the ring today, an act which is drawing a noticeable sigh of relief from the bulk of the Republican party, as the two current front-runners – Governor Rod Mitchell of Michigan and Governor Harold "Huck" Michaelson of Kentucky – are fairly extreme right-wing conservatives, both of whom would likely face a crushing defeat against President Santos next fall…_"

FOX: "_An announcement is expected from the Senator at any moment. In spite of his popularity and high polling numbers, a significant portion of the Republican establishment is asking: is he the best candidate for the G.O.P.? Or would they be better off with one of the more grassroots-oriented candidates? Either way, we expect that this will turn the Republican primaries into something quite intriguing. We go now live to Major Garrett, in Annapolis…_"

The junior Senator from Maryland sat in front of the makeup mirror, doing his best not to fidget. Six years in the Senate and six years in the House of Representatives before that had done absolutely nothing to change how he felt about going in front of TV cameras looking like some kind of freak from a mortuary.

Perhaps that had the most to do with his twenty-eight years in the United States Marine Corps – fifteen on active duty, and the last thirteen as a Reserve pilot. As far as he was concerned, a man should not have to go through any more motions with regard to appearance than shaving, brushing his teeth, and running a comb through his hair in the morning. Makeup was absolutely ridiculous.

_Ronald Reagan wore makeup_, the mocking voice in his head reminded him. That little inner monologue that always made the Marine Corps Major grit his teeth. Sure, the Gipper was his big hero and his inspiration for political life. However, the man had been an ACTOR before he entered politics. He was USED to the makeup.

"We got five minutes!" he heard a familiar voice call across the room. The voice of a young man who had been toiling in obscurity before being plucked from a Buy More in Los Angeles to serve as the Senator's Chief of Staff after his election to the Senate in 2004. It turned out that a political science degree from Stanford wasn't worth nearly as much as had been thought, and since the Senator had known the young man's father for decades, he figured he would do him a favor.

It had actually worked out for the best. The young man had been an absolute ace as a political operative, and had brought on an absolute knock-out of a speechwriter after running into her on a flight to Paris. She had just gotten fired from a consulting job, and even though the Senator hadn't exactly been overjoyed about his chief of staff hiring people without running them by him first, he had to admit that this particular young lady could write speeches that would have made Ronald Reagan weep with joy.

The irony there, of course, was that both his chief of staff and the speechwriter were liberals. The Senator teased them no end about that particular fact, but they were both loyal to him, in spite of their political differences. And truth be told, there were a number of deep blue liberal causes that the Senator believed in anyway, so that made his young staffers happy.

Speaking of the speechwriter…

"Alright, Senator, let's go over this once more time," Hannah Metzger said, crouching down next to him. "If you get asked why you want to be President, your answer is…"

John Casey looked at himself in the mirror. "I believe that this country is struggling to rediscover its identity right now," he replied. "We're mired in an open-ended civil war in Kazakhstan, a war that was started by Jed Bartlet and perpetuated by Matt Santos. I understand that President Santos has done the best he can with the resources he has, but his best is simply not enough. What this country needs right now is an experienced President, a President who has the fortitude and the wherewithal to –"

"NO." Hannah cut him off abruptly. "I told you NOT to say 'fortitude and wherewithal.' You sound like a stuck-up dick, or worse yet, you sound like Jed Bartlet."

"Hey, President Bartlet gave some damn good speeches in his time," Casey retorted.

Hannah was quick with her rejoinder. "That was ten years ago. Drop the fancy language. You sound like an East Coast snob who went to Columbia."

"I am an East Coast snob who went to Columbia," Casey grumbled. "What's wrong with that?"

"The grassroots folks who went to Humboldt State and Texas A&M don't like that kind of appearance," Hannah replied. "If you think for three seconds you're gonna beat Rod Mitchell and Huck Michaelson, you've got to appeal to them."

Casey sighed. "Fine," he grunted. "What do you want me to say instead?"

"'What this country needs right now is an experienced President, a President who is not afraid to take on the tough issues and be the change that this country needs'," Hannah said. "That's what you need to say."

Casey narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze on Hannah. "You want me to say that President Santos is afraid," he replied.

"Yes, I do," Hannah shot back. "It makes you look stronger and puts a sense of unease about Matt Santos in the minds of the American people."

"Not gonna do it," Casey said, shaking his head. "The President's a Marine. I refuse to call out a fellow Marine for being afraid of political action."

"Senator, dammit –"

"BARTOWSKI!"

Across the room, a head covered in curly brown hair popped up. "Be right there, Senator!" Casey heard.

A moment later, John Casey's chief of staff, Chuck Bartowski, came to a halt next to Casey and Hannah. "What's up?"

"Tell your speechwriter skirt that I'm not calling a fellow Marine a coward," Casey growled.

"I'm not telling you to call President Santos a coward!" Hannah protested. "I just want you to say –"

"That President Santos is afraid," Chuck interrupted with a sigh. "Hannah, I told you that line wasn't gonna fly."

Hannah glared at Chuck, then turned her glare on Senator Casey. "I hate you both sometimes," she growled, before stomping away.

Chuck looked after her, and then looked at the Senator. "What did you say to her, Casey?"

"Nothing!" Casey insisted. "All I said was that I wasn't going to say that President Santos was afraid of something. I'm a Marine, he's a Marine. It's not gonna happen."

"Understood," Chuck replied. "So, I need to know what you want –"

"Bartowski."

Chuck frowned at the interruption. "Yes, sir?"

"You're not sleeping with Metzger, are you?"

_What the hell_? "Uh, no, sir," Chuck replied. "I mean, not that I haven't considered – uh, I mean – where exactly is this coming from, sir?"

A slight grin crossed John Casey's face. "Just keeping you on your toes, Bartowski. Making sure you're keeping in line with company policy – you know –"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Chuck interrupted him. "I know. No putting company chocolate in company peanut butter, which, really, is one of the more disturbing analogies you've come up with in your time, sir."

* * *

"Good afternoon.

"My name is John Casey, Senator from Maryland, and Major in the United States Marine Corps.

"In January of 1998, I was approached by two individuals who had long been mentors of mine – Colonel Diane Beckman, United States Air Force, and Congressman Robert McLellan of Maryland's 3rd District. Colonel Beckman extended to me an invitation to work for her with the National Security Council, and Congressman McLellan suggested that I might want to run for his seat in Congress when he retired at the end of the year.

"It was a difficult choice. Accepting the job with the NSC would have ensured a rapid ascension through the ranks of the Marine Corps, and a great amount of prestige within the military. Running for Congress meant a great deal of difficulty, but it also meant the opportunity to affect the policies of our great nation.

"And so I chose to run for Congress. I was elected that fall, re-elected in 2000 and again in 2002. In 2004, I decided to run for the US Senate against the incumbent Senator. My margin of victory was narrow, but for the last five years, I have been proud to serve the people of the state of Maryland as their junior Senator."

Casey looked down at his notes, and then out at the audience. Drawing a deep breath, he continued. "I believe, however, that there is only so much I can do in the United States Senate, and that there is a place in our government where I can continue to serve my country in an even greater way." Looking out over his audience, Casey paused for a moment.

"That is why today, I am announcing my candidacy for the Republican nomination for President of the United States. I look forward to the challenge of competing against Governors Mitchell and Michaelson for this nomination, and should I be nominated, I look forward even more to engaging with a fellow Marine, President Santos, in campaigning for the highest office in our land.

"I will be happy to take your questions at this time."

* * *

As John Casey took questions in the background, Sam Seaborn turned away from the television set to face the two young political operatives in the room with him. "Thoughts."

Bryce Larkin looked from Seaborn to his colleague, Jill Roberts, and then back to Seaborn. "Well… John Casey's no pushover," he said. "He's got a great Congressional record, and he's a US Marine. Those are both important factors."

"Our guy had a pretty good Congressional record and was also a Marine," Sam shot back. "And?"

"It's been four years since President Santos was a Congressman or a Marine," Jill answered. "He had to resign his commission and his seat in Congress when he was elected, and four years is basically ancient history."

Bryce nodded. "I have to agree with Jill on this one," he said. "And, you know, Senator Casey's got a pretty good staff working for him too."

"That he does," Jill agreed with a nod. "That he does."

Sam looked at Jill curiously, and then over to Bryce. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Do the two of you know something that I don't?"

"Chuck Bartowski," came a voice from the door. Bryce and Jill turned their heads to see the woman standing in the doorway. Despite the distinct scar across her face, National Security Advisor Sarah Walker was still a striking woman who had no problem turning heads on Capitol Hill. And now, she had given voice to the exact problem which neither Bryce nor Jill wanted to mention.

But Sam Seaborn didn't understand the problem. "Okay, I'm familiar with Chuck Bartowski," he said. "John Casey's chief of staff, and a skilled political operative. What about him?"

Sarah Walker smiled. "Oh, Bryce and Jill both went to college with him," she replied, "and they're both scared to death of him."

Sam raised an eyebrow and then looked at Bryce and Jill. "Good to know," he muttered.

Bryce sighed and shook his head as Sarah's footsteps echoed down the hall. "I hate her so much sometimes."

* * *

Senator John Casey (R-MD) – Adam Baldwin  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Hannah Metzger – Kristen Kreuk  
Sam Seaborn – Rob Lowe  
Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer  
Jill Roberts – Jordana Brewster  
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski


	2. Domodedovo

Author's note – So, since I'm new to this whole Chuck-fic thing, I decided to poke around, see if I could find some inspiration, and I came across the archive for what apparently was the "Best of Chuck-fic" awards from last year, a.k.a. the "Awesomes". So, I thought, "Awesome," right? I started reading some – and "Awesome" isn't a strong enough word to describe some of those stories. There's some absolutely incredible authors in this field – **brickroad16**, **sharpasamarble**, **arathorn73** – just to name a few.

However, probably my absolute favorite story of the ones I read was one called _Sarah vs. Green Bay_, by **Moe32**. That was just fun all the way around, and it actually served to inspire a little bit of Sarah's background for my story. So, thanks, and I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Domodedovo**

**October 9, 2009  
9:50 PM, Eastern Time  
International House of Pancakes  
Arlington, Virginia**

The hostess made sure to seat Sarah where she always sat. In the middle of a wall, no windows behind her. She had a clear view of the door, and at least three egress routes. And so, she saw her contact from the moment he walked in, as the hostess pointed her out, and he made his way over to her.

"Good evening," he said by way of greeting as he pulled out the chair across from her.

"Were you followed?" she replied simply as he sat.

He shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "After all, I was trained by the best."

* * *

**August 10, 2008  
2:20 AM local time  
Tskhinvali, South Ossetia, Georgia**

This was not good.

Of course, anything that started off as a local conflict and ended with a superpower ramming its fist directly down one of the belligerent's throat was never good. Especially when that superpower was Russia, and the recipient of the throat-ramming was Georgia, a democratic country that was titularly a U.S. ally.

Then again, had the whole business in Kazakhstan not been going on, Russia probably would've stayed the hell out of the Georgia situation. However, since they had peace-keeping troops in Kazakhstan – as did half a dozen other countries, including the U.S., Australia, and England – it was naught but a hop, skip, and a jump to get a couple of infantry brigades from Kazakhstan to Georgia.

Needless to say, that had not stood well with President Santos. But what could he do? Between Kazakhstan and the situation in Somalia, a large percentage of the United States military was engaged. And so, when Australia and England decided to detach some of their peacekeepers to Georgia to act as "advisors" to the Georgian government, President Santos' National Security Advisor, Kate Harper, had suggested sneaking in members of a certain US Army special operations unit.

Officially, the President had said, "Hell, no." Doing so was in violation of the Geneva Conventions and could – and probably would – get any participants shot on sight. However, after the doors had been closed and the microphones were turned off, he gave very quiet approval to insert half a dozen members of the spec ops unit into the Australian infantry brigade that was making its way to Tbilisi.

And that was how Sarah Walker had come to be where she was right now. In the custody of a rather unpleasant FSB agent by the name of Markus Domodedovo. Captured as she was sneaking around Tskhinvali, trying to get an accurate estimate of the level of Russian occupation of the town.

Dammit.

It didn't help that Domodedovo was a total cliché, either. Not only was he smoking a cigarette, but he had dragged Sarah into the back of a dark, powerless police station, and had set up a work lamp that was apparently connected to a generator outside. He hadn't yet offered her a cigarette, but it was only a matter of time – she was sure of that.

"So," he began, his English cloaked in a thick Russian accent that Sarah was quite certain was at least fifty percent fabricated (he simply looked too educated for his accent to be so prevalent), "why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself."

"Walker, Captain Sarah," she replied, her voice tight and controlled. "Royal Australian Army. Serial number bravo four niner niner aught one six two x-ray."

Domodedovo turned and looked at her, a condescending smile on his face that he might have ordinarily otherwise reserved for a small – and less than bright – child. "Oh, come now, Captain Walker, how is it that they say in _Big Lebowski_ movie? 'You are out of element'? You have no Australian accent. You are American, it is certain."

"Walker, Captain Sarah," she said again. "And though I'm not required to tell you this, I don't have an Australian accent because my family moved from Campbelltown to Green Bay when I was six months old. I didn't move back until I was sixteen."

"Ah, Green Bay," Domodedovo exhaled. "I have only seen on television. Is so much like Leningrad – oh, excuse me, St. Petersburg." His smile got a little bigger. "You must think Brett Favre is, how do you say, gigantic douchebag, no?"

Sarah sighed. The bizarre part was, Domodedovo was actually exactly right about Favre. Retiring and then signing with the New York Jets? Unconscionable.

_It could be worse_, Sarah thought. _It could've been the Vikings_.

But that was neither here nor there. "I have no comment in that matter," she said. "Walker, Captain Sarah. Royal Australian Army. Serial number bravo four niner niner aught one six two x-ray."

Domodedovo's smile faded. "That's unfortunate," he sighed, his Russian accent fading to almost nothing, being replaced by a mild English accent.

_Either Oxford or Cambridge_, Sarah thought to herself. "This whole situation is unfortunate," she said mildly. "Did you have a specific instance in mind?"

"I do indeed, Captain Walker," Domodedovo replied. "Or should I, perhaps, call you Captain Scheuring?"

Sarah froze. _Oh, shit_, she thought. However, she kept her face neutral, doing her best not to betray anything. "I'm sorry?"

Domodedovo rolled his eyes. "Captain Samantha Scheuring," he replied. "United States Army Special Intelligence Unit. Very black, very deep cover. You're not supposed to be here, now are you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sarah said quietly. "Walker, Captain Sarah. Royal Australian Army. Serial number bravo four niner niner au-"

Without warning, Domodedovo grabbed Sarah under her arms and bodily heaved her upward, slamming her down, face first, on the table she was seated at. However, his voice did not change one iota. "I'm sorry, Captain Scheuring," he said, his voice still calm and level. "You were saying?"

"Walker, Captain Sarah. Royal Australi-"

This time she didn't even get to her serial number. Domodedovo grabbed her by her hair, jerked her head back, and slammed it into the table. A gout of blood erupted from Sarah's nose.

_Well, so much for that_, she thought. _Guess I'll be visiting the plastic surgeon after all_.

"Walker, Captain Sarah," she began again. "You are in violation of the Geneva Convention's provisions for the treatment of prisoners of war –"

"I'M in violation?" Domodedovo asked with an incredulous laugh. "Please, Captain Scheuring, continue with your jokes. You amuse me! You would come in here, posing as a member of another nation's military, and lecture ME on the Geneva Conventions?"

"I am Captain Sarah Walker, of the Royal Australian Army," she replied. "As a prisoner of war, I am protected by international law from torture and abuse –"

Domodedovo's composure finally began to crack. "You are an officer in the United States Army, posing as an officer in the Royal Australian Army," he shot back, an edge to his voice. "If I were to execute you here and now, I would be fully in compliance with the provisions of the Geneva Conventions." As he spoke, Sarah heard the metallic whisper of a knife being drawn from its sheath. "But I'm not going to do that."

Grabbing Sarah's right shoulder, he flipped her over. Her handcuffs smashed into the wood of the table, causing it to splinter. Sarah winced as the splinters jabbed into her hands.

"I'm going to leave you with a little mark of my country," Domodedovo said, the calm present in his voice once more, but now with an unmistakable degree of malice to it. "And then I'm going to leave you with a little reminder of MYSELF."

Domodedovo's first statement hadn't bothered Sarah much – so he might tattoo her, or cut her. Oh well, she had known that might happen when she signed up for the special intelligence unit. But the second statement…

_Oh my God, he's going to rape me_, Sarah realized, a feeling of dread spreading throughout her.

But wait. No. No way. _There's no way I'm going to let that happen_, she thought. _There is no way that some ex-KGB asshole is getting between my legs._

"What shall we give you as a reminder, Captain Scheuring?" Domodedovo asked, as Sarah desperately ran through her list of options. "How about we give you my personal favorite?" He grinned – an apparition that Sarah was quite certain would give her nightmares for some time. "Why not a symbol of my beloved _Rodina_ – a little hammer and sickle on your FACE?"

Okay. That was definitely not good, and Sarah's list of options was short. But then…

_That's quite a sizable splinter stuck partway into my hand_, she realized. _I wonder how strong it is…_

It was slightly difficult to ignore Domodedovo as his knife brushed across Sarah's cheek. She gasped in pain and surprise as the tip dug into her flesh right below the junction of her right eye and her nose, but she gritted her teeth and kept working on the splinter in her hand.

Sarah did her best not to scream as the knife – _I think that's a Marine Corps Ka-Bar_ – tore through the flesh of her face, Domodedovo carving a curve across her right cheek. But in spite of the pain, she suddenly had a flash of triumph shoot through her brain – the splinter had been removed from her hand, and was firmly grasped between her left index and middle fingers.

As Domodedovo continued his handiwork, Sarah concentrated as hard as she could on the splinter. Probing carefully, she found the keyhole on the handcuffs, and slipped the splinter in. Painstakingly, she worked the splinter around in the keyhole – and just as Domodedovo began to curve upward, she felt a _click_.

The cuff on her right hand fell loose, but Sarah didn't move for a brief moment, not wanting to give herself away. Pretending to writhe in pain – although, she didn't have to pretend _too_ much, as Domodedovo had reached the joint of her upper and lower jaws – she freed her right hand from its cuff –

And before Domodedovo realized what was happening, Sarah's right hand was locked around his wrist. She jerked his hand away from her face, the Ka-Bar falling away, and brought her left hand up, swinging the handcuffs toward his head.

The right cuff landed a vicious blow to Domodedovo's forehead, knocking him backward. Rolling off the table, Sarah landed heavily on the floor. Reaching out, she grabbed the fallen knife, and reaching down, quickly cut through the duct tape holding her feet together.

Turning over, Sarah saw an enraged and bloodied Domodedovo advancing on her. "I'll kill you, you American bitch!" he growled, his Russian accent thicker once more.

_The hell you will_, Sarah thought. Lashing out with her feet, she kicked Domodedovo in the solar plexus, knocking him backward. And then, in an act which her commanding officer would probably not condone – after all, it would have been useful to interrogate Domodedovo, and find out exactly who had spilled the beans on Sarah's true identity – she rammed the Ka-Bar deep into Domodedovo's abdomen, and sliced upward as hard as she could.

Markus Domodedovo howled in pain, and blood came gurgling to his lips. When Sarah reached his sternum, she cut the Ka-Bar into the bone as hard as she could. The pain was so great that Domodedovo passed out and fell to the floor, his own Ka-Bar embedded in his sternum.

It would take Domodedovo only a few minutes to bleed to death, but Sarah didn't plan to stick around that long. Looking down at his prone, bleeding figure, she sighed. "Walker, Captain Sarah. Royal Australian Army. Serial number bravo four niner niner aught one six two x-ray."

* * *

**October 9, 2009  
8:55 PM, Eastern Time  
The White House**

Sarah Walker left the grounds of the White House on foot, through the gate onto Executive Avenue. As she exited the property, she turned right and headed north.

This was something she had done many times over the last ten months, but only once in the last month. Nonetheless, as soon as she reached H Street, she recognized her usual set of tails.

They were always there, all five of them. A photographer for the New York _Post_, another for TMZ. A low-level cultural officer from the Korean embassy – in other words, a Korean spy. An individual who Sarah was fairly sure worked for Congressman Haffley and was trying to nail Sarah for impropriety. And finally, Sarah's personal favorite, a former LAPD detective who had turned into a conspiracy theorist.

Truth be told, they all did a fairly good job of tailing her, and had Sarah not been a highly trained intelligence officer, she probably never would have known they were there – well, except the photographers. They made know secret of their presence.

But know they were there she did, which was why she had developed a completely convoluted way of getting to her destination – one that involved all five Washington Metro lines, and of which none of the five tails had been able to stick with her for the duration yet.

They had varied methods of following her. The two photographers were on foot. The Korean spy was on a bicycle. Congressman Haffley's employee also followed on foot, but blended into the crowd fairly well. The conspiracy theorist followed in an unmarked Crown Victoria – _a carry-over from his cop days_, Sarah assumed.

Luck was on Sarah's side a little this evening, and not at all on the conspiracy theorist's side. There was usually at least one police parking spot available on I Street outside the Farragut West Metro station, and nobody would question an unmarked Crown Victoria in one of those. However, tonight, Sarah had decided to walk the extra block to the Farragut North station – and there was no parking there. By the time the conspiracy theorist found a parking spot, Sarah would be long gone.

And so, when she boarded the Red Line train bound for Glenmont at 9:07 PM, only four followed – the two photographers, Congressman Haffley's spy, and the Korean spy with his bicycle. Sarah took her usual place on the train – in the rear car, entering through the door closest to the rear. Her vantage point near the corner allowed her to scan the entire car, and guarantee that nobody would catch her unawares.

The four were used to a predictable pattern of behavior for Sarah. On the rare occasions when she rode the Red Line, she would get off at Metro Center and transfer to the Blue Line. However, Sarah had decided to change things up a little tonight.

At Metro Center, Sarah disembarked from the train. She watched as the two photographers did so, the man from Congressman Haffley's office, and the Korean spy with his bicycle. And then, at the last minute, Sarah dove back onboard the train

The two photographers and Congressman Haffley's aide, all mostly unencumbered, were able to follow suit. However, the Korean spy was stuck on the platform, unable to maneuver his bicycle back onto the train before the doors closed.

Sarah felt slightly bad for him as she saw the crestfallen look on his face. That was the first time she had done that, and he had to know he had been made. That would be the end of this particular assignment for him. And so, as the train began to pull out of the station, Sarah made eye contact with him and blew him a kiss.

_Might as well try to cheer him up a little_, she thought. She had been down that road before herself, and the end sucked.

The next stop on the Red Line was Gallery Place. The train pulled into the station at 9:11 PM, and Sarah got off, followed by the other three men – all of whom, at this point, had to have SOME suspicion that they had been made. However, Sarah gave no indicator that she knew they were there.

Moving down the platform quickly, Sarah descended to the lower level of the station, reaching the bottom platform just as the Green Line train to Branch Avenue arrived. Sarah went to the front door of the rear car and stood, waiting for it to open. Just as it did so, however, she darted to her right, moving in through the rear door of the next car forward.

The New York _Post_ photographer made the mistake of trying to follow Sarah into that car, and arrived just as the doors closed. Wisely, the TMZ photographer and Congressman Haffley's aide boarded the rear car, and would have to hope they could see Sarah when she disembarked.

And disembark she did, three minutes later, at L'Enfant Plaza. However, this time, she waited until the very last second. As the doors on the train began to close, Congressman Haffley's aide and the TMZ photographer both saw her walking down the platform. However, only the Congressman's aide was able to move quickly enough to get off the train before the doors closed.

_And then there was one_, Sarah thought with a grin, trying to act like she didn't notice the panting kid behind her. _Poor guy – I can't imagine what he did to piss Haffley off so badly that he would make him follow me._

Six minutes later, the Yellow Line train to Huntington pulled into the station. Sarah resumed her post at the rear of the rear car, Haffley's aide straggling onto the train behind her.

_It's almost like he's not even trying at this point_, Sarah thought, as the kid took up station holding a pole, in a spot where she could clearly see him. Nonetheless, as long as he was on her tail, he still put her mission in jeopardy.

A moment after leaving the station, the train emerged above ground, moving onto the bridge that took it over the Potomac River. Sarah had traveled this part of the line many, many times before – the next station on the line was the Pentagon.

So she knew that right after the train re-entered the ground, there was a sharp turn just before the station at the Pentagon. As the train approached the end of the bridge, Sarah began moving toward Haffley's aide, who wasn't really paying very close attention at this point.

Sarah stationed herself just a few feet from the aide. Gripping the overhead rail, she braced herself for the curve. As the train entered the curve, the kid swayed slightly – just enough for Sarah.

_Sorry, kid_, she thought, lashing out with her right foot. She didn't kick him hard, but even the gentlest of kicks to the back of the knee was enough to cause it to bend out of reflex. Between the bent knee and his lack of balance, the kid fell, flying into the pole by which he had been standing as the train accelerated out of the curve.

Sarah winced as his crotch impacted the pole at full force. She hadn't planned for that to happen – but it would certainly incapacitate him enough to keep him from following her.

He was still curled up in a seat, moaning in pain, when Sarah exited the train a moment later. She felt bad about hurting the poor kid that way, but it had been necessary. Hopefully that would get the message to Congressman Haffley that she wasn't somebody to be trifled with.

A moment later, Sarah boarded the Blue Line train in the opposite direction. That took her to Rosslyn Station, where she boarded the eastbound Orange Line train. Seven minutes later, she exited the Metro station at Ballston, headed for the street above.

As Sarah came above ground, she saw, glowing on her left, the sign for her destination – Arlington's only twenty-four hour International House of Pancakes. Sarah strode with purpose toward the IHOP, and a moment later, found herself walking through the door.

The hostess made sure to seat Sarah where she always sat. In the middle of a wall, no windows behind her. She had a clear view of the door, and at least three egress routes. And so, she saw her contact from the moment he walked in, as the hostess pointed her out, and he made his way over to her.

"Good evening," he said by way of greeting as he pulled out the chair across from her.

"Were you followed?" she replied simply as he sat.

He shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "After all, I was trained by the best."

And for the first time in an hour, Sarah cracked a smile. "Oh, come on, Chuck, I thought I was the best!"

Chuck Bartowski grinned and shrugged. "Well, you're no slouch, but Senator Casey's done this sort of thing with the best of 'em."

Sarah's smile grew wider and she shook her head. "And here I thought I was special."

* * *

Sarah Walker/Samantha Scheuring – Yvonne Strahovski  
Markus Domodedovo – Christoph Waltz  
New York _Post_ photographer – Donald Glover  
TMZ photographer – Danny Pudi  
Korean spy – Sung Kang  
Haffley's aide – Taylor Lautner  
Conspiracy theorist – Tom Everett Scott  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi


	3. Back in Black

**Chapter 2 – Back in Black**

**October 12, 2009  
5:35 PM, Eastern Time  
Comedy Central World News Headquarters  
New York, NY**

The lights flashed three times, and a chime sounded. As the audience fell quiet, a cameraman looked over at the two men seated behind the desk and raised three fingers. A red light went on over Camera #2, and the cameraman counted down -

3... 2... 1...

"Welcome back," Jon Stewart said to the camera. "Senator John Casey will be joining us in a minute, but first... whenever a news story falls through the cracks, Lewis Black is there to catch them for a segment we call... Back in Black."

AC/DC's eponymous song played briefly in the studio as the light over Camera #2 went out and the light over Camera #1 came on.

Without any further introduction, Lewis Black dove headfirst into his rant. "Texas's new adult consent law has a lot of people outraged," he practically bellowed at the camera. "Some more than others."

The light over the camera went off briefly, as a clip from Fox News played on the studio screens. "Some have likened lowering the consent age to sixteen to establishing a new Amsterdam in the heart of Texas," anchor Bret Baier explained.

The camera went back to Black. "That's a little bit of a hyperbole, to compare Texas to the Netherlands," he said. "First of all, it's legal to smoke pot in the Netherlands!" Then he frowned. "But now, all this outrage has people outraged at the outrage!"

Once again, the camera went off, and Keith Olbermann appeared on the screens. "You're out of your MIND," the MSNBC pundit exclaimed. "Are you REALLY comparing a red light district, chock full of brothels, to lowering the legal age of consent so that high schoolers don't spend the rest of their lives carrying around the albatross of 'sexual offender'?"

Lewis Black looked back at the camera as the red light came on and sighed. "No, Keith, perhaps they're just saying that it's a BAD IDEA for sixteen year olds to be getting freaky in the shadow of the Alamo!" He shook his head and pointed a shaking finger directly at the camera. "I sure as hell know that I wouldn't want MY sixteen year old daughter running around Texas with some Friday Night Lights MISCREANT!"

The screens came up again, this time showing an interview with the governor of Idaho. "I sure know I wouldn't want my sixteen year old daughter running around Texas with some Friday Night Lights miscreant," she explained, her odd midwestern twang coloring her voice.

"DAMMIT!" Lewis Black shouted as the camera came back on. "You plagiarizing..." He calmed down from his mock rage. "Anything else, Governor Powell?"

Sheila Powell reappeared onscreen, Greta van Susteren facing her this time. "It just seems like a bad idea to be tellin' kids that it's okeedokee for them to be havin' sex when they should be studyin' and getting' ready for college."

The camera went back to Lewis Black, who was feigning stunned silence. "My God," he finally said. "Who the hell let June Cleaver out of Mayfield?"

Camera #1 turned off as Black turned toward Camera #2. "Now, what about that one guy... the Marine Corps pilot, that one gentleman from Texas... oh yes, the PRESIDENT. Tell us, President Santos, what do YOU think of the bill?"

The White House Briefing Room appeared on the studio screens, President Matt Santos standing behind the podium and looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I think it's probably for the best," he stated. "I mean, the last thing we want is for eighteen year olds who made an unwise but not necessarily, um, immoral choice to carry around a label for the rest of their lives."

Camera #2 came back up. "Clearly the President has forgotten that his own daughter will be sixteen in three years," Black said. "Oh yeah – AND SHE'S A LEGAL RESIDENT OF TEXAS!"

Black turned back toward Camera #1 as the lights changed. "Look, folks, here's the deal. I'm not saying that our teenagers shouldn't be allowed to have fun. I'm just saying, unless you want to start getting called Grandpa before you turn 45, maybe you don't let your teenage daughters go to Galveston for Spring Break, huh? Jon?"

Jon Stewart looked over at Black, a barely concealed smirk on his face. "Thank you, Lewis. We'll be right back."

* * *

"That was interesting," Chuck Bartowski said, looking over at John Casey.

Hannah Metzger shook her head. "Ten to one says Stewart's gonna ask you about it," she said.

Casey frowned. "I'm from Maryland."

"Doesn't matter," Hannah shot back. "You're one of the Republican candidates for President, this is a hot-button issue – you're gonna be expected to have a point of view on it, preferably a conservative one. What are you going to say?"

Casey opened his mouth, and then closed it again, shrugging. "I really... I don't know."

"Oh, well, that's lovely," Chuck replied sarcastically. "I've been wanting to go back to Burbank, permanently."

"Chuck, look, I'll play it by ear, alright?" Casey replied irritably. "If he decides to ask me about it, I'll figure out what to say then."

Chuck sighed. "Senator, that's all well and good, but if you give the wrong answer, you're going to lose the Texas primary. Do you REALLY want to risk one hundred thirty-seven delegates just because you don't have a good answer?"

Casey grunted – _grunt #37_, Chuck realized with alarm, _shut up or die_. "Look, Chuck," Casey snapped, an edge to his voice, "I'm the one running for President here. I've been elected to public office four times already. I think I have a good idea of how to do this, alright?"

Chuck's eyes widened. He nodded, and was about to answer, but Casey plowed ahead. "Furthermore, I heard you were seen rather late at night in Arlington with the National Security Adviser," Casey growled. "Is there a particular reason you were having a late night rendezvous with Sarah Walker?"

"I – uh -" Chuck's mouth went dry and no more sound came out.

"Because Chuck, if there's one thing I hate more than the idea of your chocolate getting mixed up with company peanut butter, it's the idea of that peanut butter coming from the WHITE HOUSE."

Taking a deep breath, John Casey turned away from Chuck and strode over to the edge of the stage, awaiting his introduction by Jon Stewart.

"Walker's pretty," Hannah deadpanned.

Chuck sighed, regaining his voice. "I am not doing anything illicit with Sarah Walker," he said. "We're just friends."

Hannah raised an eyebrow. "Just friends don't go running off in the middle of the night to meet -"

"They do when one is the National Security Adviser for a Democratic President and the other is the campaign manager for a Republican candidate for President," Chuck shot back. "It's not like we can just show up at Ben's Chili Bowl at lunchtime. The Huffington Post would have a damn field day."

A look of patient amusement on her face, Hannah looked up into Chuck's eyes. "Chuck," she said, "can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you're not shtupping Sarah Walker?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Hannah -"

"Chuck... come on."

"Fine," Chuck grumbled, looking back down at the speechwriter. "I'm not shtupping Sarah Walker." _Not now, at least_.

* * *

**October 1st, 2008  
1:37 PM, Eastern Time  
Hart Senate Office Building  
Washington, DC**

Chuck was late. He was very late.

Not that that surprised him these days. It seemed like ever since Lehman Brothers had taken a nose dive directly into the crapper, Chuck hadn't been on time for a single appointment.

Mostly that was because Senator Casey had gone into full-on Marine Corps battle mode. He had already had three interviews that day – one each with ABC, CBS, and NBC – and now he was gearing up for one with FOX News. And after each one, Chuck had to do damage control – especially after the ABC one, when Senator Casey had whole-heartedly trumpeted his support for President Santos' plan to force the breakup of AIG instead of bailing them out, despite the fact that the official position of the Republican Senate caucus was very much against that idea.

_Goddamn maverick_, Chuck thought disgustedly. _John McCain, you ain't got NOTHIN'_ _on my guy_.

And so distracted was Chuck with trying to keep Senator Casey from saying something that would incite the Republican Senate caucus to fetch the pitchforks and torches, he didn't even notice the tall blonde walking at a considerably slower pace than he as he barreled through the hallway. As a result, despite her last minute attempt to get out of the way as she heard his footsteps, Chuck ran over US Army Captain Samantha Scheuring with all the grace and finesse of a runaway water buffalo.

Down went Chuck, and down went Captain Scheuring. Chuck's iPhone bounced out of his hand and skittered away down the hall, his briefcase exploding and vomiting briefing papers everywhere as it hit the floor. Stunned, he lay on the floor for a brief moment before even trying to get up.

But Captain Scheuring beat him to it. "Are you alright?" she asked, extending a hand to Chuck.

"Yeah, uh, I'll live, but I think my dignity is going to be dead on arrival," he cracked. "I'm really sorry about that. I usually don't run people over unless they work for Pat Robertson."

Captain Scheuring raised an eyebrow. "Not a fan of the 700 Club?"

"I'm not a fan of anybody who uses religion to fan political insanity," Chuck replied. "But that's just me."

Samantha grinned. "It's an admirable point of view," she said. "Probably one that not too many people in this building share, though."

"My boss does – well, most of the time," Chuck amended. "He grew up Catholic, so every so often the whole abortion thing gets his back up."

"Really," Samantha replied. "Who do you work for?"

"John Casey," Chuck answered. "Junior Senator from Maryland. I'm Chuck Bartowski, his chief of staff."

"Well, Chuck, you can show me the way to Senator Casey's office, because that's just who I'm going to see," Samantha replied. "I'm Sam – uh, Sarah Walker. But you can call me Sam."

Chuck gave her an appraising look, then raised an eyebrow. "Can I call you Sarah instead?"

Samantha was taken aback. "Uh, well, sure, I guess," she replied. "May I ask why?"

"You don't look like a Sam to me," Chuck said with a shrug. "I think Sam, I get a mental image of Sam Seaborn. You're much better looking."

"Okay, Sarah it is," she replied, a look of mock horror crossing her face. "God forbid I be compared to one of the most attractive men at the White House."

"Oh, please," Chuck shot back. "He's virtually an antique. He's been working in Washington since Jed Bartlet ran for President the first time."

"An antique... well, hmmm," Sarah said, thinking for a minute. "Yeah, I guess I did graduate from high school the same year Bartlet was elected."

"Exactly my point!" Chuck replied. "So did I. Sam Seaborn, on the other hand, had been out of Duke Law for seven years by that point."

"Which would make him..." Sarah did some quick mental math. "Jeez, you're right. He is kind of an antique."

Chuck grinned and laughed. "See? Exactly what I was saying."

Sarah nodded. "So, we should probably be getting to Senator Casey's office... my appointment is at 1:45 -"

"Which means he'll see you around 2:30, if you're lucky," Chuck interrupted. "He's running about 45 minutes behind right now, and given that he's about to spend some quality time with Brit Hume, he might NEVER get back on schedule."

"Maybe I should reschedule -"

"Oh, no, completely unnecessary," Chuck said. "He'll definitely see you today. If you're his 1:45, that means..."

Retrieving his iPhone from where it sat a few feet away, Chuck pulled up the daily calendar. "That means you're the US Army intelligence agent who just came back from Kazakhstan."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "You... you really shouldn't know that."

Chuck shook his head and grinned. "Sarah, here's the thing – if you're going to work in Washington, you have to understand that if a Senator or a Congressman is cleared for something, then nine times out of ten, his chief of staff is going to know about it."

Sarah frowned. "That's somewhat disturbing."

"Hey, look at it this way," Chuck said. "First of all, it's how we keep the intelligence community in line. Secondly, we wouldn't know these things if we couldn't be trusted. Third, you want to get a drink once this crazy day is over?"

The first one made sense to Sarah, even if she disagreed somewhat strongly with it. The second one – well, that was logical, too. The third one – wait, WHAT?

Sarah looked at Chuck in disbelief. "Did you just ask me out?"

Chuck shrugged. "If you want to look at it that way. Or, you could look at it as me saying, 'Hey, I'm stressed out, you look stressed out, Fado's is a hop, skip, and a jump away, and they've got black & tans for half off during Happy Hour, so why don't we go?'"

In spite of herself, Sarah started to smile. "Well, when you put it that way, how can a girl resist?"

* * *

**October 2nd, 2008  
6:03 AM, Eastern Time  
Georgetown**

"_Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down..._"

Chuck sat bolt upright in bed. His iPhone was rickrolling him. That was not a good thing, because that ringtone was set for Senator Casey's cell phone – and why the hell was Senator Casey calling him at 6:00 AM?

And... well, it looked like he had brought a certain Army operative home with him.

As Chuck reached out to silence his iPhone, the head rolled over. "Good morning," Sarah Walker said with a sleepy smile.

"I don't know how good it is," Chuck muttered, pressing talk on his phone. "This is Bartowski."

"_Bartowski, it's Senator Casey. You watching CNN?_"

"No, sir," Chuck replied. "I was asleep."

"_They're saying that AIG has agreed to President Santos' plan to break into multiple smaller units. I really feel like I should get out there and say someth-_"

"Sir, hold on," Chuck said, stopping Senator Casey. "You were all over the networks yesterday, and you really didn't make the Republican leadership happy. I think it would probably be better if you sat this one out."

"_Chuck, you know that I'm all for this plan. I feel like -_"

"Sir, I know. Santos is a Marine, you're a Marine, you actually agree on something, hoo-ah. But now is NOT the time to be getting buddy-buddy with the White House."

There was silence on the other end for a moment – such a long moment, in fact, that Chuck was afraid his boss had hung up on him. "Senator?"

"_You're right,_" John Casey finally admitted. "_But if you ever use hoo-ah in such a perjorative fashion again, I will decorate your nostrils with your shoes._"

Chuck shuddered at the thought of the Converse high-tops being shoved up his nose. "Yes, sir," he replied, as Senator Casey ended the call.

* * *

**October 12, 2009  
5:45 PM**

Chuck's smile faded as he remembered what happened after that. He and Sarah had seen each other a few more times. She had admitted to having a lot of personal baggage, and he had immediately offered to be her baggage handler, something that seemed to have sealed the deal for her -

Until she told him that she had been offered a position at the White House. National Security Advisor Kate Harper was leaving due to an impending child, and President Santos had been sufficiently impressed with whatever black operation Sarah had conducted in south Asia that he had offered her the position – so long as she regularly consulted with Nancy McNally.

Well, there was no way they could carry on a relationship – not with him working for a rising young Republican Senator and her working for the President. It didn't matter that they were ideologically fairly similar, and that Sarah's job was reasonably apolitical – John Casey was a Republican, Matt Santos was a Democrat, and that was that.

Their friendship had remained, but over the last year, Chuck had had to repeatedly refrain from telling Sarah he wanted it to be more than that. He did, badly – but they couldn't. Not now.

_Maybe once the campaign's over_?

But it wouldn't be over soon. Not with the way Casey's polling numbers had jumped in the eleven days since he had declared.

As Chuck grimaced, he heard Jon Stewart's voice from the set. "_Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the junior Senator from Maryland and Republican candidate for President of the United States, John Casey!_"

With a sigh, Chuck turned to watch Senator Casey walk out on stage on one of the monitors. No, he wouldn't be taking his relationship with Sarah Walker where he wanted it to go any time soon.

They were in this one for the long haul.

* * *

Jon Stewart – himself  
Lewis Black – himself  
Bret Baier – himself  
Keith Olbermann – himself  
Governor Sheila Powell (R-ID) – Stana Katic  
Greta van Susteren – herself  
President Matt Santos – Jimmy Smits  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Senator John Casey (R-MD) – Adam Baldwin  
Hannah Metzger – Kristen Kreuk  
Samantha Scheuring/Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski


End file.
